#how are we so far removed from reality

[bitchyblkqueer]

yall i said i still mask in public and it affects how people perceive me and someone said they also mask but they meant acting 😭😭😭😭x1000

[anastacialy]

i do not know how to explain to people that "transmisogyny" is the specific transphobia that trans women + transfems face (often but not exclusively at the hands of cis people), and "transandrophobia" is the specific transphobia that trans men + mascs face (often but not exclusively at the hands of cis people), and that they all come together under the umbrella of "transphobia." these are not opposing concepts nor are they mutually exclusive, to believe in one does not mean non-belief in the other. is there a simpler way of phrasing this. can i be clearer.

[gay-artificer]

I just wanted to say that i love your theories about lore and biology of rain world!

aww thanks. im not an expert by any means but evolution is like my number one favorite thing ever and i love thinking about how fictional things (which are usually designed with very little evolution in mind lol) got to that point is my favorite... RW plays into it so much its like how can i not think about the ecology of this fake pixel worm they're begging me too

[banglatown]

.

[kkoct-ik]

i miss my wife

[imkindadeadinside]

it pains me that i actually have to take freud seriously in psychology

[caxycreations]

Okay, I've been nerd sniped, I'm sorry

NOTE: If you're going to reblog just to say "not reading that" or some other rude shit, DON'T. I've seen so many notifications of people just saying they couldn't be bothered to read it. I don't know if it's just that they don't see how incredibly rude and disheartening that is or if they know and don't care, but either way it really hurts to see, so please don't reblog if it's just to tell me you won't read it.

So let's go through the canonical likelihood they could each beat Goku. For the sake of keeping canon, we'll keep groups/pairs together if they would never reasonably be apart for something like this. Long post below the cut.

So first up are the ones I see that would, without a doubt, beat Goku.

Saiki K

Saiki is an omnipotent psychic/psionic with quite literally every single possible power out there. Now, this on its own isn't enough to beat Goku. Versatility doesn't mean everything, but Saiki is also powerful enough to rewrite the genetics and reality of everything within range, and his range is, so far, "Earth".

So this, on its own, would allow him to rewrite Goku's biology to make him Human. Bye bye zenkai boosts, bye bye Saiyan transformations. And Saiki, with his powers, has no trouble beating a Human of any caliber if he truly wanted to. And for those who ask "Why would he ever fight Goku?"

One simple reason: Goku would sense his immense power, and be excited for a fight. Goku is respectful enough to not force one if he's refused, but he's persistent enough to badger Saiki until he's given a chance. And Saiki, being Saiki, would simply take off one of his limiters, or both, and rewrite reality as such: "Being an alien isn't possible", thereby making it effective immediately that Goku must be lying/insane, and he is, in fact, Human. Easy win for Saiki.

And for those who would argue against this, bear in mind, the funniest way to beat Goku in this instance would be to simply make him weaker than Saiki, and Saiki is a gag character from a gag series, and it's already been shown in the world of Dragon Ball, and again in Dragon Ball Super, that Goku is incapable of defeating a gag character regardless of that characters canonical ability.

Saiki could win without gag character status, but even in the instance of Goku "beating" him, the gag would turn out to be that Saiki only pretended to get beaten, and is actually entirely unharmed because it was the easiest way to get Goku to leave him alone. Followed by a reveal that Goku will still show up now and then to ask for sparring matches, to drive the point home.

Popeye

Gag character. Would get beaten handily, crawl his way to spinach, and then be exactly as strong as he needs to be to take Goku down in however many hits is funniest.

Bugs Bunny

The gag character to end all gag characters. Someone on this hellsite once described Bugs as a "Trickster God who traps us in our own societal expectations" or some such. Like convincing Thanos to remove the Infinity Gauntlet by establishing a security checkpoint with a metal detector and shaming him into cooperating by telling him there's others waiting.

He could beat Goku in a billion ways, and each and every one of them would involve some shenanigan like Goku throwing a spirit bomb, Bugs showing up behind him holding it, saying "Ehhh, can you hold this for a second?" and as soon as Goku takes it and Bugs is off-screen, it would explode and Goku would be a pile of ashes with blinking eyes. Bugs would win because Bugs' gag is that...well, he simply can't be beaten.

The Warner Trio

Gag trio. Yakko, Wakko, and Dot would snark, sass, and sarcastic-joke their way into the scene, and they would spend the entire time poking fun at him, roasting his look, being unfazed by his attacks because "Nice laser show but we didn't bring our glowsticks." and just being too unbothered to care.

They would undoubtedly annoy Goku into admitting defeat simply to get away from them.

Road Runner

Gag character. Would force Goku to chase him, Goku would fire some blasts, chase him around, and inevitably be led right into the path of a blast he fired earlier to be disintegrated by it.

Pop Team Epic

I know nothing about this series except that it is a gag series. They are gag characters. That means Goku is inherently incapable of beating them.

ASDF Guy

Gag character. Could beat Goku with a simple "Hello, Mine-Turtle!" or "I like Trains."

Heart Diagram

Goku was literally killed by a heart virus in Future Trunks' timeline. This is one that has actually canonically already killed Goku.

Chowder

Gag character. Would likely be after S-Cells for some recipe and need to take Goku's as he's "The only Saiyan in this episode!" or some such, thereby ending the fight with a shot of Chowder wearing Goku's Gi for comedic effect while Dahl stirs raw Super Saiyan aura in a pot to hint that Chowder killed Goku for his S-Cells.

Force Ghost Trio

Gag versions of serious characters, and also ghosts. Goku is canonically unable to beat ghosts or gag characters, and these guys are both.

Those are the ones that would, without a doubt, beat Goku.

Now, let's go over the ones that could, potentially, be it likely or unlikely.

Kirby

Kirby is often considered a gag character, but he isn't. He has a very specific level of power, even if that level of power is "fuck you" levels of power. Kirby has beaten Gods, but so has Goku, even more often and with greater ease. However, Kirby has absorption and power-theft. Kirby could, potentially, absorb Goku (he isn't the brightest and Kirby has his unassuming appearance on his side) and take on his strongest form, including its powerup, and given Kirby in base form is likely more powerful than Goku in base form (Goku needed SSJ to scare Supreme Kai, Kirby beats Gods in base), it's possible Kirby would be more powerful than Goku with the same power up.

Kevin McCallister

Okay, hear me out.

Kevin is technically a gag character, BUT. He is not TRULY a gag character. He just happens to be a comedy character.

So he isn't guaranteed to win, but he could still possibly do so. How you ask?

Goku has been somewhat injured or lightly shaken by the following: planet-shattering attacks. Punches that rock the universe. Energy blasts so potent they would destroy entire galaxies.

Goku has been rendered inconsolable from the pain of the following: chest pain and a half-heartedly, boredly tossed pebble.

It is canon that when Goku and the other fighters in the series are expecting an attack or primed for battle, they are protected by their ki, like armor. It's how they're able to knock away attacks that would destroy planets, or put their "bare" hands on plasma energy that would normally burn the skin off you from a mile away let alone touching it.

This is why when Krillin threw the rock at Goku, it left him in agony and bruised him despite Goku being in Super Saiyan form at the time. This is why Chi-Chi is able to injure Goku regardless of how strong he gets.

So, how does this relate to Kevin being able to beat him? It's everything. It's critical information.

Kevin McCallister's entire M.O. is unexpected attacks. You open a door, you see a bucket fall, think it's over, turns out no, second bucket pulled by the first, second bucket is full of paint and open, you're blinded, you get your bearings, you take a step and feel cars, you smirk and step over them only to find marbles, you slip, you land on the cars which turn out to have been rigged to break easier to let loose a single thumbtack which is now firmly stuck in your back or butt. You bolt upright only to slam your head on a 2x4 that was rigged to hang down from a rope when you fell because your impact shook things enough to make it fall from a precarious perch above.

You get the idea. Every time you think it's safe to let your guard down, that's when the next wave hits. So you say "well he would stop letting his guard down" right? You fool. You know nothing of Goku. He would never put his guard UP. This is a human child, Goku can sense his pitiful power level. His strength? His speed? His ki? Weak. Pathetic. Nothing. A scouter wouldn't even register his power it's so low.

Goku never raises his guard to Chi-Chi, or to Bulma, or to Hercule. He does not raise his defense against normal, powerless, non-combative humans.

"BUT KEVIN IS COMBATIVE" No. He isn't. Goku can sense intent, power, and location. But Kevin isn't actively intending to hurt Goku. He's intending to protect himself and his home. He's not actively wanting to hurt Goku, he's just wanting Goku to leave. He doesn't have power to threaten Goku with, so Goku won't pick up on any threatening aura. And while Goku could simply instant transmission to Kevin and do what he will, we're not talking about how Goku could win, we're going over the fact Kevin could POSSIBLY win.

Enough injury and Goku is down for the count. Otherwise, Goku leaves to avoid further injury, and thereby admits defeat. Both cases, Kevin wins.

Shedinja

This one took me...quite a while. I had to do a lot of extra research for this. So, my immediate thought was Shedinja is a Ghost type, so ghost rules, right? Nah. Bug and Ghost type, and they are the physical shell left behind that has been reanimated. So they very much are physical beings, and given their ability to faint in the games and show they are capable of being physically damaged.

But There's a real case to be made for Shedinja beating Goku.

It can learn Ghost type moves, which operate on ghost-logic, and therefore are a canon weakness Goku is known to have. So things like Shadow Ball, Hex, Curse, and the like would all effect Goku regardless of Ki or form.

It also has access to Wonder Guard, which renders it "immune to all damage types that are not Super-Effective". For those unaware, we can actually attribute Typings to Goku's moves based on attributes and traits they share with Pokemon moves. His melee is, by nature, Fighting type, which Shedinja is immune to. In fact, Shedinja is immune to ALL attack types except Flying, Rock, Ghost, Dark, and Fire type moves, which are all Super Effective.

Goku's most common methods would actually fall under Fighting and Normal type attacks. "But his Ki blasts-" would be Normal type moves. You want proof?

Focus Energy is Normal Type. Quick Attack is Normal Type. Self Destruct is Normal Type. Techno Blast is Normal Type. Tera Blast is Normal Type. These are all energy based moves similar to ki blasts. Know what other energy based move is Normal Type? Hyperbeam. Which is almost identical to the Kamehameha and every other beam attack in DBZ.

Those few attacks Goku has that aren't going to be Normal Type will be Fighting Type.

Shedinja is Immune to all Normal and Fighting Type moves. Goku literally can not damage Shedinja, but Shedinja can damage Goku through Ghost Type moves. Shedinja can beat Goku. But why is it not "absolutely will" beat him? Because Goku can also transform his Ki and if he finds out Shedinja is vulnerable to fire, he can and will use that to his advantage.

That's who could potentially beat Goku. Here's who absolutely could not.

Saitama

I forgot to go over Saitama originally so here's the edit that features that analysis. Bear in mind I am saying this as someone who has seen Seasons 1 and 2 of the show AND is aware of some of the events of the manga.

A lot of reblogs over Saitama claim he is a gag character. But there is a case to be made that he is NOT. What is that case you ask? Well, for the sake of fairness, here is how I am handling gag characters: if their gag is in effect in 100% of all cases (such as looney tunes like Bugs or Road Runner) or if the gag is triggered in 100% of all cases (such as Saiki K or Chowder) then they are a True Gag Character and will insta-win.

However, if their gag has failed (such as Wario, or, yes, even Saitama) in ANY case, then it CAN fail again, and the fairest fight is one against two non-gag characters, so we can safely apply non-gag Saitama here since his gag has failed and Goku meets the conditions to cause it to fail again, which I'll explain.

So, first off, how does his gag fail? Well, his gag is that he kills everything instantly in one hit, unless he actively chooses not to. So we can safely say his gag fails if any of the following are true: he fails to instantly kill an enemy with a single hit while intending to do so, OR if he fails to kill an enemy with a serious hit intended to kill.

He meets both of these conditions. Boros survived for several seconds AFTER Saitama hit him with a Serious Punch. It was a single hit that intended to kill...But he didn't kill Boros INSTANTLY with it. Another example of his gag failing, if that doesn't satisfy, is Garou. Garou, in the manga, has survived MULTIPLE Serious Punches with intent to kill. This, on its own, is proof Saitama's Serious Punch does in fact have a limit to its output. It also proves his gag can, and does, fail against certain opponents.

So the next thing we need to look at is similarities between Garou and Boros to identify what they share that could possibly allow them to get around Saitama's gag, or to nullify it entirely. First similarity is that both are determined to have a good, satisfying fight. Boros crossed the stars seeking one, and Garou sought to become a true Monster powerful enough to force every hero, every do-gooder, to unite under one banner just to take him down. They both seek a battle to end all battles, even if Garou's intention is to end it in his favor, not simply enjoy the fight.

The second similarity is that they have incredibly unique circumstances, even by OPM standards. Garou is a man who has always felt love for the bad guy, he looks to the monsters as inspirations, as the misunderstood and the victimized by those claiming to be heroes. He's trained by an S-Class hero, and has developed into a being of unimaginable power in the pursuit of his dream. Very much a true foil to Saitama, who looked to heroes in comics as inspirations, as the righteous and unshakably moral, self-taught through and through and developed into a being of unimaginable power in the pursuit of HIS dream. Garou is, in this way, a reflection of Saitama, the Tails to Saitama's Heads, the dark to his light.

Boros on the other hand is an alien, forced to become strong by his homeworld's unforgiving conditions, developing a level of power necessary to survive and then some, and on realizing he was far too powerful for his own good, he sought purpose, meaning, and when he heard he may find a worthy opponent, he did everything he could to achieve that future, to realize his dream of facing a foe that would give him a true challenge.

So what are the similarities we can identify? Notably unique circumstances even by OPM standards, sharing strong similarities to Saitama's desires or dreams (Garou dreaming of becoming the greatest Monster vs Saitama dreaming of becoming the greatest Hero, Boros feeling lost in life and seeking a worthy foe vs Saitama feeling bored with living and wishing for the sensation of a real fight again), and the desire for a serious and ultimate battle.

Goku fits ALL of these conditions. He is an alien sent to Earth for his protection, grew up in hostile conditions (surviving on his own for most of his childhood, constant battles with Nation-level threats throughout his teen years, constant battles with world or universe-level threats throughout his adulthood), trained extensively until he was the best of the best, has the ultimate dream of a truly satisfying battle (a dream he routinely seeks out by facing down powerful foes), and being entirely bored with mundane life because there's absolutely no challenge to it, not to mention the fact he has the ultimate dream of becoming the strongest, something he shares with Saitama's pre-OPM self.

Since Goku fits ALL the conditions needed to make this battle exempt from the gag, we will NOT be considering it, as Saitama is not a True Gag Character, and Goku fitting conditions for nullifying it means we can assume actual power limits and such.

So let's look at feats of power. Saitama's Serious Side Hop technique allowed him to create AT LEAST 60 after-images (based on the manga panel) which, when compared with Sonic's 4, means Saitama was moving 15x faster than Sonic in that moment (bare minimum). An afterimage like that is created by moving at least 572mph, stopping in each position for at least 1/255th of a second (any less and the human eye can't pick up on it), so by moving from position A to B for 1/255th of a second and back to A, going 572mph between the two, you create the afterimage.

Sonic creates 4 simultaneously, meaning he needs to move to 3 positions and then back to starting position, or go from A to B, B to A, A to C, C to A, A to D, and repeat.

This means Sonic, to move into each of these positions in less than 1/255th of a second, would need to be moving ~4x faster than the speed for one afterimage. That puts him as moving at 2,228mph while creating those 4 afterimages. Given he is capable of Mach 5 speeds (he's said to be hypersonic) this feat is easy for him, as Mach 5 is 3,805mph. I assume, just as it's easier to move at top speed in a straight line than at sharp turns for a normal person, it's likely more difficult to create such consistent afterimages and so the difficulty that makes it his best attack is from the technique and reaction involved, not the speed itself.

In any case, if Saitama made at least 60 afterimages, putting him at 15x faster than Sonic's speed while creating 4, that puts Saitama's speed at 33,420mph just to account for the 60 we can count in the manga panel. This means 33,420 is the MINIMUM speed we can assume for Saitama's max ability. To be generous, given he wasn't winded after doing that and given he was able to react incredibly easily to the near-instant directional changes, I'll be kind and put his maximum speed at 10,000x this number.

That puts Saitama's speed at 334,200,000mph, or 49.8% the speed of light. We'll be kind again and say 50% the speed of light, round up that last .2%

So we have a speed value for Saitama. Now what about Goku? Well, let's look at Goku on Namek, for a moment. Base form Goku, at the start of his fight against Freeza. Goku, BEFORE his super saiyan transformation, was moving at 3.26 (we'll round down to 3) times the speed of light. How do I get this number? Buckle up, it's involved.

The Namekian ship Bulma, Krillin, and Gohan took to get to Namek made it from Earth to Jupiter in "seconds". That means less than a minute, so we'll say it took them 1 minute just to lowball it and to have a solid starting number. Jupiter, when the two planets are at their closest to each other (assuming shorter distance for slower speed, another lowball), is 365,000,000 miles from Earth. This means the Namekian ship moved 365mil miles in 1 minute.

That puts the Namekian ship at a speed of 21.9 billion miles per hour. They made it to Namek in 30 days of travel. The ship Goku took to Namek made the trip in 5 days. That means Goku's ship is 6 times faster than the Namekian ship. Don't worry, the ship speed DOES matter in this, I promise you.

So Goku's ship moves at 131,400,000,000mph. That's 131 billion, 400 million miles per hour. Or 195x the speed of light.

Why does the ship speed matter so much, you might ask?

Because King Kai could visually keep up with the ship. He was able to track Goku's progress with ease, and could see his ships movements without problems. This means King Kai's eyes and brain are capable of perceiving and processing things that move at 195x the speed of light.

Why does that matter? Because Super Saiyan is canonically a 50x multiplier to ALL base ability. Strength, speed, durability, etc.

And Goku, in Super Saiyan, was moving so fast King Kai stated he could no longer keep up. King Kai, capable of seeing and processing the input of vision on a ship moving 195x the speed of light, could not see or process the input of vision on Super Saiyan Goku.

We'll lowball it, and say Goku only needed to move 1 mph faster than 195x the speed of light for King Kai to lose track of him. So whatever value we get, we'll add 1mph to for Goku's base form speed.

So 195x the speed of light +1mph. 195/50=3.9x the speed of light. That's 2,616,900,000mph, adding in the extra mph makes it 2,616,900,001mph. So Base Form Goku moves at ~3.9x the speed of light, ON NAMEK. Super Saiyan is a 50x multiplier, putting him at ~195x the speed of light. Super Saiyan 2 is a 100x multiplier to Base, so 390x the speed of light. Super Saiyan 3 is a 400x multiplier, so 1,560x the speed of light. Super Saiyan God is a 20,000 multiplier so 78,000x the speed of light. Super Saiyan Blue is a 1 million times multiplier, so 3,900,000x the speed of light. And lastly, Mastered Ultra Instinct is a 300 billion times multipler, so 1.17 trillion times the speed of light.

Why did I bother going through all those multipliers? He wins in Base as of Namek saga lol. Anyway, continuing on to strength now that we've established Base Goku on Namek could move 3.9x faster than the Speed of Light while Saitama could only move at 0.5x the Speed of Light.

Strength. Okay. This one is harder to gauge, but we CAN gauge it. We'll go in terms of level of damage, so human level (would be on-par or less than peak human ability), town level (small towns), city level (large cities), nation level (an entire nation, less than a continent), continent level (one or more nations that span an entire continent), world-surface level (the surface of an Earth-sized planet), Planetary (capable of destroying an entire Earth-sized planet), Solar (capable of destroying a solar system), Galactic (capable of destroying a galaxy), multi-galactic (capable of destroying many galaxies), Universal (capable of destroying an entire universe), Multiversal (capable of destroying multiple universes).

We'll start with Goku this time. Goku's punches are, as of the Battle of Gods arc, strong enough to match Beerus perfectly to nullify the shockwaves of Beerus' attacks. Mind you, the mere shockwave of Beerus' attacks are enough to rip and tear the fabric of the universe itself, as stated by Elder Kai. This puts Goku's punches as being powerful enough to tear the fabric of the universe in when he first obtained Super Saiyan God. Why does this matter for Base Goku? Because Base Goku retained his SSJG power, as stated by Beerus.

So Goku in Base, post-battle of gods, is physically capable of punches that can tear apart the universe from the aftershocks alone. This is important to note because Elder Kai could physically feel the shockwaves from the World of the Kais. This makes Goku Universe-level in strength. This means Goku, post-BoG, in Super Saiyan is 50x stronger than what's needed for Universal, while Goku, as of current manga canon (assuming he didn't actually get any stronger since BoG and is simply more powerful due to new transformations) is capable of a form (Mastered Ultra Instinct) that puts him 300 billion times stronger than minimum Universe level strength.

And Saitama? Where does he fit here? Well, I thought this gap would be bigger honestly? But after researching, it seems the gap isn't all that big. Saitama has, canonically, with a Serious Punch, snuffed out an entire cylinder of stars and presumably every planet, moon, asteroid, and more, at a distance surpassing that of our solar system, and with a diameter surpassing it as well. This puts Saitama's power (if we lowball it MASSIVELY) at Solar. He could, in a single punch, destroy our entire solar system, and he wouldn't even need to be serious to do it. It's worth noting this is coupled with Garou's own Saitama-level Serious Punch, so we can assume this level of power is double Saitama's own.

So how do we determine the specifics? Well, he cleared an area large enough to cover, presumably, half the area of stars destroyed in the path of his and Garou's serious punches.

Through future revelations in the series we learn they didn't "destroy" every star in that path, but likely only several were destroyed, and possibly a galaxy, while the remainder of the void left behind was from the shockwave forcing every other star within range into a new position, creating a void in space that all stars had been moved from, save the few that were in the DIRECT path of their attack.

Another theory is that the Serious Punch^2 simply distorted the photons in the area, resulting in the appearance of a massive void, and this theory is based on the angles in the manga and comments made by other characters that paint Earth as the only thing in real danger from the power of the attack.

To be fair to Saitama, where we would lowball Goku, we'll highball Saitama, and say the Serious Punch^2 outright destroyed every star in the area. That level of power would, naturally, have shockwaves that push nearby stars out of the way AND distort photons in the area, resulting in a massive cone of destruction surrounded by a large cylinder of force.

This puts Saitama at, quite easily, multi-galactic level of strength.

But why did I say this gap isn't as big as I expected? One simple thing. Saitama has canonically punched his way into a different dimension in the manga. That means he's capable of brute-forcing his way out of the bounds of his universe. He is capable of physically destroying the fabric of the universe.

Meaning Saitama's strength is, bare minimum, Universal in close proximity. That puts him, strength-wise, on par with Goku, who through training has become stronger than Super Buu (who was so strong he could shout his way out of the Hyperbolic Time Chamber, a dimension separate from our own), meaning Goku is also Universal in close proximity.

So...while I expected Saitama to be ~Planetary, MAYBE he'd be Solar at most...Research indicates he's actually Universal, or near-Universal, meaning the fight may not be too far a gap after all.

Goku may have Saitama beat on speed (given recent manga events in OPM, I'm willing to allow that Saitama is faster than light speed, but Goku having as many forms as he does (Kaioken, which he can combine with other forms and can hit a multiplier of x100 on top of whatever power he currently has, SSJ1-3, SSJG, SSJB, MUI) means even if Saitama matches Base Goku, he's likely not going to stand up to his stronger forms).

But on strength, I'd wager they're close enough for this fight to be one hell of a battle.

What about Durability? After all, all the strength in the world won't save you if you're as easy to kill as a simple bullet to the head, right?

Goku has withstood universe-ripping punches (from Beerus, the God of Destruction, and based on comments in the manga he's one of the stronger Gods of Destruction too), dimension-tearing attacks (from Goku Black, pre-Fusion), energy blasts that even the Gods of Destruction were nervous of (from Jiren during the Tournament of Power), and he survived multiple blasts from Granolah post-wish buff, who was renowned for his sniping power pre-wish, and post-wish was as powerful as he would be if he had spent every single second of the next 147 years training non-stop with the absolute healthiest amount of rest and physical care, making him, presently, as powerful as he would be at the END of that time, with the price paid being that he only had 3 years to live as he lost 1 year of his lifespan for each power boost.

It was also clear that Granolah was the strongest in the universe...at the time of his wish. Goku and Vegeta, who were already on their way, were not as powerful as Granolah even with their transformations. They became stronger during their fight with him, and stronger still during their fight with Gas (who was more powerful than Granolah after Gas transformed and mastered his transformation).

So we can safely assume Goku is Multiversal in Durability, as he himself was able to output Universal damage with each punch, and he was able to survive hits from beings drastically stronger than himself.

What about Saitama? Well, Saitama was able to survive the force of the Serious Punch^2 and he was able to casually bust his way into another dimension. So his Serious Punch, if he wanted it to, could easily destroy the barrier between universes or dimensions.

And given he survived the force of two of them impacting each other, I would put Saitama at, bare minimum, Universe-level durability. But given he was able to survive prolonged battle against Garou, who is a Power Mimic and has shown Saitama-level strength, we can safely assume Saitama is BEYOND Universal-level durability, and so we can put him right there with Goku at Multiversal durability.

So what do we have so far?

Goku has speed equal to, in Base Form, 3.9x lightspeed, and 1.17 trillion times lightspeed in his most powerful form.

Goku has Universal level strength in Base Form, 300 billion times that in his most powerful form.

Goku has Universal durability in Base Form, Multiversal durability in his most powerful form (300 billion times his Base Form's durability).

Saitama has speed equal to, at minimum, 0.5x lightspeed, and at maximum, if we highball it, 2x lightspeed.

Saitama has Universal strength.

Saitama has Universal durability at minimum, and Multiversal durability at maximum.

At this point, I'm convinced the speed difference between Base Goku and Saitama means nothing. Saitama's durability means even with Base Goku moving at his top speed, his impacts won't be enough to beat Saitama. At top speed Base Goku may be putting out Universal damage, but he's not putting out enough to actually BEAT Saitama. Only injure.

Making me rethink my "Goku wins in Base lol" claim earlier, how dare you!

Anyway, at this point, Goku would HAVE to transform to beat Saitama. His ability to sense power and Saitama's evident inability to suppress it (as evidenced by multiple characters sensing his ungodly power even while Saitama is completely relaxed) would mean Goku would know, right away, he needs to transform for the fight.

Saitama's durability means Goku would likely need Super Saiyan 2 or 3, or, more likely, SSJG. Super Saiyan God's multiplier to Granolah-arc Goku, after all of his training with Whis and Vegeta, would most likely be enough to beat Saitama. And given SSJG is enough to "most likely" beat him, then Super Saiyan Blue (aka Super Saiyan God Super Saiyan, the form above SSJG) is surely enough, and Mastered Ultra Instinct (a form drastically more powerful than SSJB) is absolutely more than enough to beat Saitama.

And given Goku's mastery over the Kaioken technique, and he's been shown to enter Kaioken x 20 while in Super Saiyan Blue for fair amounts of time as of the Moro saga, meaning even if SSB wasn't enough, given MUI is overkill, it's possible SSB x10 or x20 would be.

The point being, Goku wins this fight due to a combination of technique, experience, and power from his transformations. Given Goku is faster than Saitama and would sense his power as Saitama doesn't know how to suppress it, nothing Saitama could do would be a surprise attack to Goku, meaning Goku would have ample opportunity to react to everything Saitama does.

And given the relatively similar strengths the two bear, Goku would recognize he needs to transform to beat Saitama's output.

And given Saitama's greater durability than Base Goku, and greater durability than even what Saitama himself can put out, Goku would see he needs to transform to have enough of his own output to beat Saitama's durability.

Conclusion: Goku would absolutely win this fight, BUT...I'll give Saitama credit where it's due.

Out of everyone on the entire list, Saitama is the fairest matchup here, and the one most likely to give Goku a truly satisfying fight, given it would be a battle on par with those Goku has enjoyed most.

Kingdom Hearts Mickey

K.H. Mickey has a clear power limit and ability set. He is not strong enough, fast enough, smart enough, or durable enough to beat Goku, but he is just enough of a threat for Goku to actually put his guard up, which is why K.H. Mickey would lose; Goku would see it as a fight, unlike with Kevin.

Crash Bandicoot

Crash isn't nearly powerful enough to be a threat to Goku, but he IS insane enough to push Goku to hostility. Goku would feel the need to put effort into getting him away and that is his downfall.

Hatsune Miku

Goku would assume she is a Red Ribbon android and fight her on assumption she's trying to kill him or bring harm to Earth. He would hit her full force expecting her to tank it and she would keel over dead instantly.

Wario

Everything he could possibly do, the Red Ribbon Army has tried and done better, and they've never beaten Goku. Neither would he.

Sans

Lost to a child with slightly above average human determination, and standard human strength and speed. He does not beat Goku.

And just because you specifically told me not to @ you, have this :)

@that-one-enby-onyx

[vickytaa]

Wet dreams. C.S.

___________________☆___________________

I groaned loudly, grabbing the wet mattress. "What happened?" My roommate, Chris, asked. "I washed my mattress early in the morning, and it still hasn't dried up"

I knew it was a bad idea bringing my drunken friends to my shared room, but I did it anyway. They vomited on my bed, and I had to wash it. But where am I going to sleep tonight?

"And now I don't have where to sleep," I whined. "Oh, you can sleep with me." My eyes widened at his suggestion, my cheeks blushed. Chris and I have been roommates since last year. We aren't best friends, but we help each other if they need anything.

And sleeping with him wasn't that far from reality; we sleep in the same room, separated beds. So, why not? It's just a night.

"Are you sure?" I asked. He sat up from the gaming chair, "Yes. It's just for tonight" I nodded with a smile, but my stomach was full of butterflies. I mean, Chris is very attractive, funny, and mindful, how anyone could resist him?

The night came, and we both changed into our pyjama's, ready for bed. I laid down on the edge of the bed, my ass almost falling. I was trying to fall asleep as fast as I could, not wanting to do or say something stupid. I shut my eyes closed, my back looking at Chris.

Suddenly, I felt an arm wrapped around my waist, which moved me closer to Chris. "You were about to fall," He said, his eyes still closed. I giggled at his comment, trying to hide my nerves.

We both finally fell asleep, his grip on my waist tightening. I've always hugged my pillows or stuffed animals when I am asleep, so there was no surprise when I woke up in the middle of the night with one arm and a leg hugging Chris.

I was really embarrassed and didn't want to hug him again, so I turned around, my back now facing him, again.

Unexpectedly, I felt his grip tighten, pulling me incredibly closer to him. My back was now resting on his chest, and my ass... well, it was rubbing against his bulge, and fuck he was hard.

He was having a wet dream, really wet.

His hips started to rub against mine's. I couldn't help it but get wetter and wetter by the thought of fucking Chris. His low whimpers and moans were making me rub harder on him.

I knew this wasn't right. Probably, I wasn't even in his dream. But it was impossible not to fall on the tramp.

His moans became louder and louder. The arching heat between my legs started to burn like hell. I needed some friction. I was lowering my hand to my core when I froze. "Y/n- Fuck..." Chris moaned into my ear.

Was he having a wet dream about me?

I wanted him so bad for so long. I needed to do something. I wanted to surprise him.

So I did, I pulled down my shorts, along with my panties, and removed his pants and boxers. His hard dick hit his stomach. I simply watched as his tip was covered with precum.

I sat on his lap, now straddling him. I grabbed his cock and guided to my entrance, teasing my wet folds with his tip. Loud moans and groans left our lips when he found my hole, entering inch by inch.

I looked at his pleased face, his furrowed eyebrows, his "o" shaped mouth, his closed eyes, and his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.

Once I was used to its size, I started to move. The room filled with raw nosies. "Chris! Fuck-" I moaned.

Out of nowhere, I feel his hands on my hips, helping me because I was getting tired of bouncing. "Fuck, you are so hot, Y/n" Chris said, his voice of just waking up.

"Chris- I... I'm mh" I couldn't even finish the sentence as I came all over his cock, he following soon after.

As we both relax from out high, I collapsed on top of him. "That... that was incredible" He said, still surprised of what just happened. I giggled, my plan has succeded. "All because of your wet dreams"

___________________☆___________________

[theseyellowdays]

One thing I genuinely think the fandom forgets or underestimates is just how weird Neil is. Like we paint him to be this carismatic, flashy, cocky bad boy, but in reality he's stingy, skittish, balks at anything more personal then his thoughts on Exy and Cannot for the life of him socialize. Like in the Raven King, right after Seth dies, he straight up goes:

"Neil had to patch things up with [Allison] somehow, but he didn't know where to start. He'd never been good at winning people over. Someone like Allison wasn't likely to be his first success. "

Neil's spent his life living on the outskirts of "average" life. Ergo, he's cagey and flighty and so far removed from normal that even among the Foxes he'll always be a little unpredictable and odd. And you know what, good for him; we all deserve an antisocial introverted asshole to raly behind.

[threebea]

The Jedi should have done something about Tatooine and the Hutts. If only they sent Jedi to Tatooine and not just ignored it--

Oh hi Quinlan. How's Tatooine circa TPM?

Anyway the Jedi should have done something about slavery in the galaxy outside the Republic's borders and not focused just on the Republic--

Huh. The CIS were pretty cool with helping the Zygerrians reestablish their slave empire that the (checks notes) Jedi dismantled.

Anyway, the Jedi should never have joined the war at all. Sure the clone army existed and the clones would have to fight no matter what the Jedi decided to do, and yes, as far as the Jedi knew the clones were created by one of their order and so they had a responsibility to them in whatever capacity they could, and the clones being brainwashed into loyalty for the republic was established so convincing millions of them at once not to fight would be impossible that early on. And sure, Dooku, a Sith, led the galaxy's worst capitalists that wanted to make naboo look like child's play and kill countless civilians if the Republic didn't give in to all their demands, and yes the Jedi were linked psychically to the cosmos in a way where they could feel imbalance, death, and darkness, but they should have taken the moral high road and (checks notes) let both civilians and clones die from droids. Droids who are programmed and aren't going to hesitate about killing anyone. Droids who can't be negotiated with.

Of course they could have... Negotiated with the Sith Lord? Who wasn't actually the head sithlord in charge.

Then again the other Sith Lord who had been duly elected into office wouldn't have allowed that but...they should have tried!

Well they worked with hutts to use hyperlanes for the war they could have chosen not to fight in had actually tried harder! They were lazy and chose the easy path of being forced to dirty their hands because otherwise fascist billionaires and corporations would send programmed droids to kill civilians (like Naboo during TPM) until the Republic gave into their demands (unbridled capitalism which as we recall were totally cool with helping the Slave Empire they previously dismantled become a slave empire again).

The Jedi should have helped people and not tied themselves to the senate. They could have just negotiated with a galaxy worth of planets on a case by case basis.

Listen. Star Wars is a metaphor. It is not a one to one comparison of reality. The Jedi did all they could to help people and they did things that wore them down in body and soul because they had to make that sacrifice or let people suffer and die. There is no alternative in the galaxy they existed in. The Empire that Palpatine made is what they saw the CIS becoming.

Palpatine saw the Jedi as one of the biggest threats to his fascist empire so the plan was always to kill them. It's not illegal to be a Sith he might say, but he certainly made it illegal to be a Jedi.

I would love to know what people think, with the GFFA being what it is, and the size it is, and the Jedi numbering about ten thousand in the end what they were supposed to do as an alternative that would have had any of this end different.

If they hadn't joined the war people would have been enslaved and died and the Jedi would have still been hunted and killed.

If the Jedi removed themselves from the republic in protest of the war but still fought independently to help people they would have lost so much access, more clones for sure would have died, and the Jedi would still be hunted down and killed at the end.

If the Jedi left the republic before the war and were independents they would be slaughtered faster than they were on genonosis because they don't have the numbers. The droid army would get them or the republic run by Palpatine would get them. Keeping in mind Palpatine was elected and the Jedi had nothing to do with his election beyond saving a teenage girl and bringing her to beg her case to the senate on behalf of her people (the death toll was, as we remember, catastrophic).

If they retreated to the mountains and meditated then they just let people die without even trying to help and feel the cosmos become darker and more imbalanced by the suffering they could feel but we're ignoring. And years later Palpatine would show up to kill them because that aspect of his plan would never change.

They should have taken the moral high ground doesn't work in the scenario they were given in the universe they existed in. Not for them. Not when they are powered by empathy. It would have been a corruption of what they stand for if they didn't try to help people. And they tried. It wasn't their corruption that let the galaxy down. The Jedi were aware of their own flaws. They were aware they shouldn't be generals. They knew they shouldn't be commanding a clone army. They were under no illusions that the choices they were being forced to make were good, but even at their most morally questionable they didn't sell out the galaxy. It was the politicians that voted in a mass murdering fascist with thunderous applause to not just be supreme chancellor, to not just have emergency powers, but to be an emperor.

The Jedi even tried a coup. The last thing they would want, but they tried it anyway to hold back a Sith Emperor establishing his empire built on slavery and suffering who would later build a weapon that could destroy entire planets.

The Jedi did not lead to the downfall of the Republic. They were the last shield to be shattered.

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

I think something that's fascinating in the AI discussion is how non-creatives perceive AI versus how many creatives perceive AI.

For example, years before AI was a thing--I spoke with someone about my creative writing projects and they expressed to me how they found it unfathomable that I could just make up entire worlds far removed from our reality of existence. To them, it was like magic.

To me, it was the culmination of countless hours spent playing with words until they flowed into semi-coherent lines of thought and emotion. I remember being ten years old and laboring away on my "biggest" novel project ever--it was 5k words full of singular sentence-long paragraphs and garbled heaps of grammar atrocities to the English language.

If I hadn't written it, I wouldn't have come to learn how to create the basic foundations of a story.

But I do get the "it's magic" sentiment a bit--I'm that way with music. Theoretically, I understand the components of a music composition but it feels like magic to see a musician that can listen to a tune for the first time and play it perfectly due to years of honing in their craft.

That's the premise of that quote from Arthur C. Clarke: "Magic's just science we don't understand yet."

When it comes to anything we don't have countless hours of experience with, it feels like magic. It feels like something that's outside of our feeble human capabilities. It's not until we start to put in the time to learn a skill that it becomes more attainable inside our heads.

Generative AI presents a proposition to the non-creative: "What if you could skip past the 'learning process' and immediately create whatever art of your choosing?"

It's instant dopamine. In a world that preys upon our ever-decreasing attention spans and ways of farming short spikes of dopamine, was it ever a surprise that generative ai would be capitalized in this fashion?

So for the non-creative, when they use generative AI and see something resembling their prompt, it feels good. They are "writing" stories, they are "making" art in ways they could never do with their lack of skills.

(It is, in fact, really cool that we have technology that can do this. It's just incredibly shitty that it's exploitative of the human artists whose works were taken without permission as well as its existence threatening their livelihoods.)

What I think is equally concerning as the data scraping of generative ai is the threat that AI imposes on the education of the arts. More and more, you see an idea being pushed that you don't need knowledge/experience in how to create art, all you need to do is feed prompts into generative ai and let it do the "work" for you.

Generative AI pushes the idea that all art should be pristine, sleek and ready for capitalism consumption. There is no room for amateur artists struggling like foals to take their first steps in their creative journeys. We live in a world where time is money and why "waste" time learning when you can have instant success?

It's a dangerous concept because presents a potential loss in true understanding of how art works. It obscures it and makes it seem "impossible" to the average person, when art is one of the freest forms of expressions out there.

It's already happening--Nanowrimo, the writing challenge where the entire point was writing 50k original words in a single month regardless of how pretty it looked--coming out and saying that it is ableist and classist to be opposed to AI is the canary in the coalmine of what's to come.

For the non-creatives who enjoy the generative ai, it feels like a power fantasy come to life. But for creatives concerned about generative ai?

We're living in a horror movie.

[chrkrose]

Daemon without Nettles in his arc: he no longer develops a bond with a woman who brings him no political advantage; he’ll no longer question his belief of Targaryen supremacy by facing the reality that maybe a person without Valyrian ancestry was able to claim a dragon; he’ll no longer betray his cause, his Queen and his blood to save an innocent woman from death. Regardless if you consider nettles another victim of his grooming habits, he put her before all the things he believed to save her when that would bring him nothing. If out of guilt or selfless love, it’s nuance we won’t see coming from him anymore. So a character who is already pretty dark will become much darker.

Rhaenyra without Nettles in her arc: she no longer has any reason to display her racism and classism; she’ll no longer order the death of a woman based on accusations that this woman is sleeping with her husband when said husband was already cheating on her with others and she was aware of it; she’ll no longer sabotage an ally for a petty reason and alienate a dragon rider who so far had fought for her cause. So an already whitewashed character becomes even more saintly in the narrative.

SO HOW IS NETTLES ERASURE SOMETHING DONE BY THE WRITERS TO BENEFIT DAEMON WHEN ITS HIS CHARACTER WHO LOSES ALL NUANCE AND COMPLEXITY WITH HER REMOVED FROM THE STORY?

Be so for real, are yall stupid or something?

[betweenstorms]

Part Four of Where We Part (previous chapter) (next chapter) (masterlist) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

The motorway stretched endlessly before you, the grey skies mirroring the dull ache that had settled in your chest. London was still long hours away, and all you had to keep you company were the monotone hum of tyres on tarmac and the storm of regret swirling inside your mind. Too much time to think. Too much space for regret to fester. You cursed yourself, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as your thoughts kept circling back to the night before.

You had fucking blown it.

After all those years, you saw Simon Riley again—bloody hell, he stood right in front of you, and yet you’d managed to do nothing meaningful with that moment. You had let the beer and the shock cloud your better judgement. The one chance to say something worthwhile, to ask the questions that had haunted you for years. Instead of asking him about the things that truly mattered, you got wrapped up in your own misery, your own failed ambitions.

The thought made you wince.

He had asked about you, about your damn life, but you hadn’t even had the decency to return the favour. You hadn’t asked if he was alright, if he was happy. If he was satisfied with how his life had turned out after all the hell he must have been through.

You groaned, cursing yourself again for your inability, your bloody incompetency to see the bigger picture when it mattered most, too tangled up in your own pathetic web of insecurities to make sure that he was truly all right.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

You pressed your lips into a thin line as you replayed the night in your mind, over and over, searching for the moments where you could have said something different, done something different.

Simon had been right there, and instead of taking the opportunity to reconnect, to ask the questions you had been holding onto for years, you let it slip through your fingers. You didn’t even give him your number or your address. You had let him walk away from you without leaving any way for him to find you again. Even if he wanted to, how would he know where to look? And, you realised with a sinking feeling in your chest, did he even want to? 

The bitter taste of regret coated your tongue as you tried to focus on the road ahead, but your mind wouldn’t stop replaying the encounter. In the cold light of day, with the haze of alcohol missing, it all felt so surreal, so far removed from reality. But the more you thought about it, the more it gnawed at you, and the more you realised just how much time you’d wasted. How ironic. But that wasn’t new, was it? Your whole life felt like a series of missed chances, of not recognising the significance of things until they were long gone.

The truth was, you had been doing this for years—

—letting life slip past you.

A miserable pattern that shaped your entire existence.

When you were younger, just out of university, full of fire and ambition, you thought survival was your strength, your forte. You were fully convinced you could handle whatever life threw at you. But what you hadn’t realised until now was that it wasn’t survival you excelled at—it was failing to see the things that mattered, right when they were in front of you. Survival, you’d come to learn, wasn’t just about getting through the hard times, it was about accepting and embracing the good ones, too. The moments of opportunity.

And that, it seemed, was where you had always fallen short.

Oh, you had it all mapped out, didn’t you?

The life you were meant to have. A good career, a happy marriage, kids running around in a house with a garden, maybe a dog or two. You had imagined it all so clearly, like a perfect picture in your mind. But that picture had never come to life. Instead, you had watched the years slip by, each one more disappointing than the last.

Maybe if you’d paid more attention…

Maybe if you hadn’t been so busy chasing the perfect job, you would have noticed the cracks in your relationship with your now ex-fiancé before it all fell apart. You should have seen the signs. The strange messages, the late nights, the unexplained absences. Maybe if you’d been more present, more attentive, your roommate wouldn’t have been the one to sink the knife of betrayal deep into your back. You hadn’t been watching and he slipped through your fingers, into the arms of someone you had once called a friend.

You had been so fucking busy chasing the perfect little future you thought you deserved that you hadn’t noticed the waving red flags in the life you were living.

And by the time you did, it was too late.

And your parents. Gosh, your parents.

You should have spent more time with them when you had the chance. You should have seen it sooner—your fathers’s illness. Would it have made a difference? Maybe if you had been more involved, it wouldn’t have progressed the way it had. Maybe there would have been more options, more time. But you were too wrapped up in your own life, in your career, in trying to piece together the version of yourself you thought you should be. And now your dad, your hard-working and loving father, was suffering, and you were left with the guilt of not having been there when it really counted.

The truth was, you had been drifting through life.

Existing, but not really living.

And now, as you stared down the seemingly endless stretch of road, the grey world outside your car, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had been doing it all wrong. You had always prided yourself on knowing your limits, on being self-aware enough not to overestimate your capabilities. But now, sitting here, you realised that maybe that was the problem. You’d been too cautious, too reserved, too unwilling to take the risks that mattered.

Maybe if you had fought harder for the things you desired, if you had been more aware of the moments passing you by, your life would be different now. Maybe you wouldn’t be driving back to a small flat in London, alone, with nothing but regrets for company.

It was bloody funny, wasn’t it?

As a child, you never think you’ll fail. You dream about the future with wide eyes and open hands, certain that everything will fall into place. You never think that one day you’ll look at your life and feel like you’ve betrayed yourself. Jesus, if you could meet your younger self now, what would you even say? You would probably sink into the ground with shame, unable to look into your own eyes. You should have done better for yourself. You should have loved yourself more, been braver, taken more risks.

Because the truth was, you didn’t know how you ended up here.

Somewhere along the way, the fire in your soul had gone out. The ambition, the hope, the belief in the greater good—it had all faded, replaced by this dull acceptance of mediocrity. You’d convinced yourself that this was enough, but the truth was it wasn’t. You could have done more. You should have done more.

And you didn’t.

But you could change, couldn’t you? You could pick yourself up, move out of the flat, find a job that made you happy, and take better care of yourself. It was all within your grasp. But you hadn’t done it yet, had you? You had let the years slip by, watching them drift past like birds on the horizon, too far out of reach to ever catch hold of.

Such thoughts became your constant companion over the following days.

Or had it been weeks? Months? Honestly, you’d stopped keeping track of time—everything blurred together into the same dull rhythm of work, sleep, and self-doubt. Life in London had become a strange, muted existence, the days bleeding into one another without distinction.

Tonight was no different.

You were sitting on the sofa, a thick blanket wrapped around your shoulders, working on a presentation for the following morning.

The small living room was bathed in the bluish light of your screen, the rest of the flat swallowed by darkness. Your focus drifted in and out, the words on the screen barely registering as your mind kept wandering, as if waiting for some small spark of inspiration that would never come. You sighed, running a hand through your hair, trying to will yourself to focus, but it was pointless.

Then you heard it—a knock. A soft, uncertain tapping at the door.

Your fingers froze over the keyboard, eyes narrowing in confusion. You glanced at the corner of the laptop screen. 02:29 AM. Who the hell would be knocking at this ungodly hour? Then, the knock came again, low but insistent, cutting through the quiet.

Your heart began to race, a prickle of unease settling over your skin.

You weren’t expecting anyone.

Not at this time. Not at all, really. Your parents were in Birmingham, visiting an old friend for the week, and you didn’t have anyone else in London who would drop by unannounced, especially not in the middle of dawn. You swallowed, suddenly very aware of how alone you were. The knocking didn’t stop, each thud echoing louder in the stillness of your apartment.

With a tight throat and a hammering heart, you carefully pulled the blanket off, your bare feet sinking into the softness of the carpet. Every step you took toward the door felt like it carried a weight of its own, your breath coming shallow as you pressed your ear against the wood. The knocking stopped for a moment, and you strained to listen, the eerie silence in the flat amplifying your heartbeat.

Slowly, you peered through the peephole, breath held. You blinked, your brain struggling to make sense of what you were seeing.

Hazel eyes, shadowed but unmistakable.

Simon fucking Riley.

A surge of adrenaline shot through you, your hand fumbling with the lock before you flung the door open with more force than you’d intended. The cold air from the hallway rushed in, but all you could focus on was him—standing there in the dim light, his broad frame filling the door. He looked the same as that night outside the pub back in Manchester, the same quiet intensity in his gaze. But here, now, it felt different. More immediate.

More real.

“Jesus Christ,” you snapped, words tumbling out before you could stop them. “Do you have any idea how much you scared me?”

“Didn’t mean to.”

His response was simple, understated, however, it didn’t calm the storm of emotions raging inside your chest.

You stared at him, your mind racing, your pulse drumming in your ears. He stood there, wearing a dark surgical mask that obscured half of his face and a beige baseball cap, the unmistakable Union Jack patch stitched on the front. His outfit was as unassuming as it was intimidating—black jacket, blue jeans, and military boots. And the way he was built, solid, bulky and imposing, would have made anyone else wonder if this wasn’t some kind of robbery. Or worse. He was an intimidating man after all.

But you knew those eyes.

Those sharp, piercing eyes that could cut through the fog of a thousand thoughts.

You’d know them anywhere.

For a moment, you both just stood there, staring at each other in the stillness of the dark. You looked up at him from under your eyelashes, your arms wrapped around yourself, whether for warmth or self-protection, you couldn’t say for sure. Simon stood still, his hands tucked into his pockets, his gaze locked onto yours, unreadable behind the mask. The air between you was thick with a kind of tension that was hard to place. It wasn’t quite awkward, but it wasn’t far from it either, making the space feel too small, too intimate.

As the seconds stretched out in that strange, suffocating silence, you swallowed hard, trying to gather your thoughts. Your palms were sweaty, a reminder that this was real—Simon Riley, here, at your door. In the middle of the night. You shifted on your feet, feeling the chill of the hardwood floor seeping through your skin, and wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, as though that could ward off the growing sense of vulnerability creeping up your spine.

“Well… this is, you know, sudden,” you stated softly, your voice coming out quieter than you intended, almost lost to the tension hanging in the air.

Simon shrugged, his gaze flicking away before meeting your eyes again. “Told you I’d visit,” he replied, his tone casual, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

You snorted, your nerves bubbling to the surface.

“Yeah, well, could’ve picked a better time, mate,” the sarcasm in your voice felt like armour, something to protect yourself from the whirlwind of emotions crashing against your ribs.

Simon tilted his head to the side, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“You want me gone, then?”

“No!”

The word flew out of your mouth far too quickly and with far too much force. It hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. You cringed at how desperate you sounded, biting the inside of your cheek as you quickly looked away, your gaze falling to the floor.

God, why did you always manage to make a fool of yourself in front of him? You were always like this around Simon—your emotions too close to the surface, your heart too vulnerable. It was like he had this power over you, and no matter how much time passed, you couldn’t shake it.

The familiar feeling of embarrassment crept up your neck, heating your cheeks and making your skin prickle with discomfort. Huffing softly, you dug your nails into your upper arms, grounding yourself in the sting of it.

“Do you... want to come in?”

Your voice was quieter this time, trying to hold onto whatever scrap of dignity you had left. But it felt clumsy and out of place, like they didn’t quite fit the gravity of the moment.

For a split second, Simon hesitated.

You could see it in the way his broad shoulders tensed, the slight shift in his stance, as though he hadn’t really thought through what would happen if he came here. Somehow, he seemed just as uncomfortable as you were, which surprised you. For a man who seemed to navigate life with such confidence and discipline, the idea of stepping into your flat, into your personal space, seemed to give him pause. You couldn’t quite understand why, but the longer the quiet stretched, the more you realised that maybe he hadn’t thought this through. Maybe showing up at your door in the middle of the night was more impulsive than calculated. And maybe he didn’t know what to do, just as much as you didn’t.

After what felt like an eternity, he gave a small, almost imperceptible nod.

You immediately felt lighter as you stepped aside, awkwardly motioning for him to come in. “Sorry for the mess. I wasn’t expectin’ company. I mean, not that you’re company, well, you are, but… you know what I mean.”

He stepped past you, his frame taking up more space in the small flat than you’d anticipated. His presence seemed to dominate the room, making the icy air feel thicker, more charged. He glanced around briefly, his eyes scanning the room with the same quiet intensity you’d come to associate with him. Your tiny apartment felt even smaller with him inside it, his towering figure somehow making the room feel claustrophobic.

As he moved past you, you caught the faintest scent of something familiar—the earthy scent of leather and steel, mingling with tobacco. It was subtle but unmistakable, a reminder of the life he led, the world he inhabited now. A world so far removed from yours, yet here he was, standing in your flat like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You closed the door behind him, your fingers trembling slightly as you locked it.

You murmured something about making tea, your voice barely audible as you rushed into the kitchen, turning on the cheap neon bars over the sink. It was easier to focus on something as mundane as boiling water than on the knot of nerves tightening in your chest. You could feel Simon’s presence behind you, a silent weight of his intimidating aura pressing into the room. As you busied yourself with the kettle, your hands shaking just enough to make you scowl at your own weakness, you stole a glance at him.

He was still standing near the door, watching you intently.

His eyes tracked every movement, and it made your skin tingle under the scrutiny. He still wore his usual guarded expression, as though he hadn’t quite decided whether he belonged here or not. Plus, there was something unnerving about being the focus of his attention—Simon Riley had a way of making you feel exposed, as if he could see through every weak attempt you tried to hide behind.

Frowning slightly, you asked, “Why the mask?”

Your question seemed to jolt him from whatever thoughts were running through his head. He blinked once, twice, then slowly began to peel away the layers.

The cap came off first, revealing the familiar mess of sandy blond hair underneath. His boots followed, then his jacket, each item discarded neatly by the door with military precision. But it wasn’t until he tugged off the mask and placed it carefully on top of the neat pile that you realised how much tension you’d been holding in your chest.

It felt strange to see him wearing a mask indoors.

However, as usual, Simon didn’t bother answering your question.

He just continued as if you hadn’t said anything, leaving you to piece together the puzzle on your own. That was how it had always been with him, wasn’t it? The kettle’s shrill whistle startled you back to reality, pulling you out of the trance his presence always seemed to cast over you.

You cleared your throat and asked, “How d’you take your tea?”

“Plain.”

Of course, he did.

His familiar, deep tone that rumbled in the small space between you. You nodded and made the tea, handing him a mug with a cartoon character plastered on the front. Simon glanced at it briefly but, to his credit, didn’t say anything. He leaned against the counter, holding the mug with one large hand, his gaze once again sweeping over your small, cluttered flat. You watched him silently, mimicking his posture, leaning against the other side of the furniture.

The distance between you somehow felt too wide and too close at the same time. The sleeve of his shirt was slightly rolled up, revealing the edge of a tattoo that snaked its way along his muscular arm. Odd. You hadn’t noticed it before. The bold, black lines etched into his skin told you that this was something new, something he hadn’t had back then. You wondered what kind of significance it held.

There was a strange warmth pooling in your stomach, something unsettling about the way your mind lingered on his tattooed skin.

Before you could spiral any further into your thoughts, Simon broke the silence.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

You quickly averted your gaze as heat rushed to your cheeks.

Had he caught you staring? God, how embarrassing. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, brushing your fingers through it in a futile attempt to detangle the mess.

“I wasn’t asleep,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the living room where your laptop sat abandoned on the sofa. “Was workin’, actually.”

You ran your fingers through your hair again, an unconscious attempt to make yourself look more presentable. It was absurd, really. You hadn’t exactly dressed to impress. The last time he’d seen you, you’d been more put together, more presentable, wearing makeup and decent clothes. But now, in the privacy of your apartment, you felt exposed, like he was seeing a side of you you hadn’t meant to show. You felt like a mess.

He nodded, taking a slow sip of his tea.

If Simon noticed your dishevelled look, or if he even cared, he didn’t say a single thing. The quiet stretched out again, the weight of his presence filling every corner of the room. You could feel your poor nerves fraying at the edges, but you didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know how to act. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking, whether he was already regretting seeing you again.

“You know… I didn’t expect you to actually visit.”

Simon shrugged, almost imperceptibly. “Told you I would.”

There it was again.

That simplicity in his words, like everything with him was black and white. Promises made, promises kept. It was as though, with Simon, the world was reduced to the simplest, starkest truths. There were no shades of grey, no second-guessing. You almost envied that about him, the way he seemed to live without being tangled up in the anxieties and doubts that seemed to haunt you.

You stared at your hands wrapped around your mug, feeling the warmth seep into your skin, grounding you, as you let out a small huff of disbelief. You weren’t really used to someone following through so directly, so earnestly, and it unnerved you.

You shifted, “But… how did you even find me?”

Simon’s response was immediate—a sharp look that made your already timid stomach twist in embarrassment. The kind of look that seemed to say, Are you serious?

“I didn’t give you my address, did I? I mean, I didn’t think—”

Simon interrupted you with a heavy sigh, one of those annoyed sighs that made you feel like you were the one missing something obvious. It was the same tired sound you remembered from years ago, when he had little patience for things he considered trivial.

“Your father,” he said simply, as if that answered everything.

You blinked, confused. “My father?”

He gave a small nod. “I asked him for it. At the funeral.”

His words struck you like a direct punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs. For a moment, all you could do was stare, mouth parted in silent shock, your mind reeling.

Slowly, you pressed your lips into a thin, resolute line, eyes dropping to the floor as your bare foot nudged the kitchen furniture, seeking distraction in the quiet chaos.

“And you remembered.”

Simon, ever the pragmatic, gave a faint frown as if confused by your surprise.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

His response made your heart clench. Of course, only Simon Riley would remember something like that. He remembered everything, didn’t he? It wasn’t just a detail to him, it was a promise fulfilled, a matter of duty. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly tight as you stood there in the dimly lit kitchen, the weight of his words hanging between you like an anchor pulling you both down into the murky depths of the past.

You had no words.

What could you say? That you were touched by his effort? That it meant something more to you than you could articulate?

Suddenly, the memory of the day after you met him came flooding back. The drive home from Manchester that felt endless, the silence inside the car thick with questions that swirled in your mind, never letting you rest. Those thoughts haunted you ever since, clinging to you in the days that followed like shadows, never letting you move on.

The questions that swirled through your mind like ghosts you couldn’t outrun, questions that felt urgent, vital.

And now, standing here in this moment, face to face with him again after everything that had happened, it felt as though the universe had conspired to bring you both back together. Every moment you’d spent wondering, waiting, longing, felt orchestrated by something greater than chance, as if God himself had pulled the strings, aligning the stars to give you this one moment.

This second chance.

But the questions you once agonised over, the ones that kept you awake at night, suddenly felt insignificant, small against the weight of this moment. What you thought you needed to ask him paled in comparison to the one question that now consumed you, burning through your thoughts like wildfire.

Nothing else mattered—only this.

“Did you… read my letter?” 

Your quiet words hung in the air, fragile and exposed.

It felt like a moment of reckoning, as if everything that had passed between you, the years of silence, the unspoken feelings, the grief, and the regret, had all led to this point, this moment. You weren’t sure if you even wanted to hear his answer, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking. You had to know.

Simon’s expression didn’t change much, but you noticed the flicker of something in his eyes, a flash of impatience, perhaps, or maybe just weariness. He let out a small grunt, his tolerance clearly fraying at the edges.

“Fuckin’ hell. You gonna keep askin’ daft questions all night?” His tone was sharp, but not unkind, and you could tell that, despite the frustration, he wasn’t trying to hurt you. It was just Simon—blunt, honest, unflinchingly direct.

The letter. He had read it.

Every word you had poured onto those pages, every emotion you had bared without ever expecting him to see it—he had seen it all. And not only that, but here he was, standing in your flat, at your door in the dead of night, as though he had been drawn back to you by the very things you had written down. It made you feel exposed, like you had laid your soul bare without realising it.

“And…?”

Simon’s beautiful hazel eyes flicked toward you, sharp and searching, as though weighing the unspoken between you both, carefully deciding how much to reveal. The silence stretched, thick with uncertainty, and for a heartbeat, you wondered if he would say anything at all. His expression remained unreadable, the hesitation palpable, until at last, he spoke—his voice low, gravelly, and frayed at the edges, like words worn down by years of being held back.

“Didn’t need the letter to know.”

You took a shaky breath, letting the reality of his words wash over you like a gentle wave.

Simon remained still, leaning against the counter, his piercing eyes locked onto yours. But that quiet intensity—the way he simply waited for you, like he was giving you the space to process everything, it was almost too much to bear. It was like he was standing on the edge of something, waiting for you to join him, but he wouldn’t force you to make the leap.

You placed the mug down on the counter, the ceramic clinking softly against the surface.

You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the tears to stay at bay, but the dam broke, and before you could stop it, you buried your face in your hands. Because for the first time in a long time, maybe since birth, you felt like you could start to let go of the past.

Not entirely, not yet, but enough to stop letting it define you.

The sobs tore through you before you could catch them, erupting from deep inside, the kind of crying that you’d never really allowed yourself to do. It wasn’t the silent, dignified kind of tears that you’d always kept private, tucked away in the safety of solitude. No, this was raw, unrestrained. The kind that made your chest ache with the sheer force of emotion behind it. You were crying like a child again, vulnerable and scared, as if every moment of hurt you’d ever felt had been stored away for this exact instant. Your whole body shook with the release, as you gasped for breath between the words that tumbled from your lips.

“I’m so sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking under the weight of the apology. “I’m sorry for everythin’. For never bein’ there. For not doin’ enough. For not sayin’ enough. I’m so sorry, Simon, I’m so sorry…”

The words spilled out like a flood, each one soaked with years of guilt and regret.

“I’m sorry you had to go through it alone,” you gasped for breath, clutching the edge of the counter for support as your legs threatened to give way under the weight of it all. “About… about all of it. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

You apologised for every moment of his pain that you weren’t there to stop. For his father, for the abuse. For his losses, his suffering, the unimaginable hurt he had endured. You apologised for not protecting him, for leaving him alone, for not being enough. You apologised for all the ways the world had failed him, as if you somehow could have prevented it.

The tears were relentless, burning hot as they streaked down your face as you hunched over, your hands covering your face as if to hide from the enormity of what you were feeling. You were just a child yourself back then, powerless and naive, but still, the guilt was suffocating. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you had let him down. That you hadn’t done enough to save him from that life. It was everything—everything you had buried, everything you had held onto for far too long, coming to the surface at once.

And it hurt. God, it hurt so much.

But amidst the pain, there was a strange sense of relief.

Like the weight you’d carried for so long, the heavy stone in your chest that had been there for years, was finally being lifted. You cried like the rain had finally broken through the clouds, years of pent-up emotion falling in a flood. For the first time in what felt like forever, you could finally breathe. The air filled your lungs, crisp and cold, and even though you were a mess of tears and shaking limbs, you felt lighter. Free, in a way you hadn’t felt since birth.

Your hands shook as they covered your face, trying to stifle the torrent of apologies that kept pouring out, unstoppable. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve known… I should’ve—”

But Simon didn’t let you finish. 

It was his voice, even after all those years, after a decade of longing, that cut through the storm inside you.

It was Simon—always Simon.

His words were simple, but they hit you with the force of something much greater.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

And you believed him.

[hexhomos]

Kiss on the check accepted! :3c

And your response reminded me of a detail I always pick up on rewatches but hadn't fully untangled yet—in the flashback of her childhood, Mel steps into that broken throne room with blood still drying on it. At Ambessa's prompting, Mel goes right into talking about how to renovate the place. "Paint the walls gold"...like gilding over the horrors of conquest that got that power in the first place.

And when she describes the regent they should have, she finishes with, "she should be pliant, so we can mold her." That IS what she was doing with Jayce, slowly, over a decade, and then quickly through Acts 2 and 3.

And then in the scene, after Mel finishes describing a "pliant" regent who can be molded, her mother suggests MEL could be that regent. Young Mel is excited at the idea, entirely missing the implication that she too would be an asset of her mother's reign.

That's why she takes off her Medarda ring right before casting her vote for Zaun's independence. She's finally realized she's just as subject to her mother's games as anyone else and Chooses to stop working in the interests of her family's power.

And augh, I wish her s2 plotline hadn't taken her out of Piltover so we could have seen more of the spycraft against Ambessa she was up to in Arc 1. I can't help but think of how much stronger her confrontation with Ambessa would have been if we had a full season of "daughter works against mother" instead of just a few scenes and a lot of getting kidnapped. More ambiguity with Leblanc would've been great too instead of her killing Elora to say hello.

[continued from here]

EXACTLY the way they shafted the politics in s2 (specifically so they wouldn't need to have hard conversations) genuinely had a negative impact in the ENTIRE story. The systematic horrors were downplayed and plotlines were dropped with very short acknowledgements - this is why we get people complaining about the jayce/mel breakup scene "coming out of nowhere" despite the fact that it made perfect sense for these characters!!!!!! It was just too short and they changed the subject too quickly, so we don't have TIME to think about the economic issues again.

It's so clear to me that jayce, viktor, ekko, mel (each representing a diff political facet. curious!) etc were carefully removed from the actual real world so we never have to analyze or push back against the notion that cait/ambessa are doing a hostile military coup and HAVE gotten people killed, imprisoned, and tortured en masse. So they can neatly resolve all of the plot with an avengers-style montage and never talk about the stuff with real world implications. There is no war in piltover and zaun. Just a cartoony last second villain. We just need to unite to protect... piltover...? And now viktor is randomly forgetting his proud zaunite commie stance and teaming up with the imperial invaders that were plaguing the earth moments ago........? We never talk about the class inequality ever again? Forget everything. Nothing ever matters.

The end result was that we spent far less time with these characters and they ended up being pretty underdeveloped. I know this happened for marketing reasons, its so incredibly clear aspects of the story were dumbed down so they could sell more ingame skins or pitch new champions, and that was seen as more valuable and desirable for the company than politicking - because at heart riot don't care about the political stuff anyway. But it still makes me throw my hands up in the air. such an asspull

In a reality where we had enough time and investment to touch on this, Mel could have actually gotten to push back against ambessa/cait and directly deal with the consequences of her actions. SEVIKA could have gotten a proper payoff for her underground character arc, instead of vanishing halfway through and then randomly accepting a diversity hire seat on the council (insanity. that was insanity) Ekko and the firelights would have obviously played a key role in rallying people against ambessa and helping Jinx recover from her displacement crisis (sorry isha, but even you could have been better used as part of the firelights dilemma) Jayce's mounting disillusionment with piltover and his loyalty to Viktor would be much better explored if they were still in conversation about the cities, the world they wanted to help, and the chaotic blurry lines of personhood/citizenship that decide who is an 'acceptable' target under the fist of the state. Vi could have built a self-reliant identity for herself, something better to fight for that isnt 'being a cop'. This show could've been awesome. I wish it existed

[please-destroy]

Moments of Respite

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 3.1K

.

Your body aches with the fight you’ve barely survived. 

The flight home from Sokovia is the longest of your life. Steve had practically thrown food rations  at the team, but they are all long finished now. So is any conversation, sheer exhaustion flattening the atmosphere.  

Wanda Maximoff sits on the far side of the Quinjet. The rest of the team are quiet, wordlessly favouring the other half of the aircraft. 

Wanda seems uncaring of her surroundings. Her long, dark hair is matted with dirt and blood. It shrouds her figure strangely. Only Clint watches her as openly as you.

You can’t keep your eyes away from her. There is something about her stillness. It scares you and thrills you in the same breath. Wanda watches the blue sky outside the jet, as if she isn’t really here, as if nothing is real. 

Her eyes burn with bitter life. 

When you land, it is Clint who clears his throat and walks over to her. Wordlessly, he nods his head at the exit. Wanda follows him with the empty footsteps of grief.

You aren’t quite sure why you follow them too.

Sunshine slicks pleasantly over your skin as you hurry across the lawn toward the Avenger’s building. Already, Clint and Wanda are disappearing inside.

You wait for the elevator to the residents’ quarters. When the doors open at last, Clint is standing there alone. 

He touches your arm. 

‘We don’t know her.’ He reminds you calmly. You wonder what he can see on your face. You nod but don’t answer. 

You enter the elevator as he walks out. Clint shakes his head and you worry that you really are making a big mistake. You try to ignore the thought, trusting the strong new instinct inside you that wants to follow her. 

When do you ever listen to Clint anyway?

You press the elevator button for the floor with the largest guest rooms. 

When the doors open, nerves strike you. 

You press the ‘doors close’ button hurriedly and go to your own floor instead. 

In your own living quarters, you go to your window, watching as the other Avengers disembark slowly from the Quinjet. Your fingers tap a nervous beat against the windowsill. 

You watch as Pepper meets Tony in the middle of the grass, bringing him into a tight hug. You watch Natasha’s arm slink around Clint as she leans tiredly into him. 

You think of Wanda and her dead brother and feel your gut twist with pity. 

It’s why you go back to the elevator.

This time, you get as far as Wanda’s door. It’s already ajar. You clear your throat as you push it open. 

Wanda doesn’t react. She sits stiffly at the edge of her bed. Her figure is silhouetted against a large window. She faces away from you, watching the same scenes play out on the grass. 

Your feet walk you forward. 

You look down at Wanda and the feeling of sympathy only doubles. 

Her eyes slide over to regard you dully.

You offer out your hand, not sure if she’ll take it.

‘You need to wash your hair.’ You tell her quietly. You have never spoken to her directly before. 

Wanda closes her eyes and you watch sudden, unbearable heaviness return to her shoulders. You hate yourself for bringing her back to reality.

‘I can’t.’ She whispers, voice rasping from lack of use. 

You take her hand and squeeze it once. Wanda grips it tight as she gets to her feet, following you into the bathroom. 

As her feet hit the tiles, Wanda begins to strip automatically out of her grimy clothes. Her eyes do not glance to you. You hold back your shock, realising with sudden clarity just how invisible you are to her. How meaningless everything is.

The thought bolsters you weirdly. You kick off your shoes, before removing every other piece of clothing, except your t-shirt and underwear. Wanda keeps a tight hold of your hand as you lead her into the shower. 

She lets go obediently as she turns to face the jet of water. She washes herself numbly, as you work through the wet tangles in her hair, applying shampoo and conditioner in turn. 

The steady thrum of water is comforting as you focus on your task. 

A few minutes later, you turn the shower off and find Wanda a towel. It is a comically large and luxurious one. Wrapped in it, Wanda seems encompassed in a fluffy cloud of cotton. 

You dry yourself efficiently then, removing your wet t-shirt and putting your dry sweats back on. Wet underwear seems like a ridiculous discomfort to worry about. 

When you turn back to Wanda, she hasn’t yet moved. You say her name quietly.

Wanda’s stare turns to you with sudden intensity. Her mouth hangs open slightly as her breathing becomes more rapid. 

Desperate emotions cross her face, but grief chokes them all. You touch her bare shoulder cautiously. 

Wanda’s lungs desperately search for air. She curves slightly, as if her stomach cavity has been hollowed out.

She hurries past you, back to the room that is barely hers.

You follow her cautiously. 

She is sitting again on the edge of the bed. This time, you sit next to her. Her shoulders are curved inwards.

‘I don’t know what to say.’ You admit, more to yourself than to her. The words feel blunt and honest. Part of you wishes immediately that you hadn’t spoken.

Wanda’s head tilts, moving slowly to rest against your shoulder. Your arm moves automatically around her shoulders. Her wet hair soaks through your sleeve. She cries tiredly.

You feel your heart beating steadily in your chest. You are glad that you followed her.

Minutes later, Wanda leans heavier against you as overwhelming exhaustion lulls her to sleep.

Your back aches unbearably, but you focus on the feeling of gladness. 

.

Pietro’s funeral is barely a funeral. 

Wanda wanted to bury him. But a superhuman’s body is valuable, dead or alive. 

A twisted embarrassment runs over Wanda’s face as she scatters his ashes below the large tree. 

You hate knowing that it feels so wrong to her.

Sokovia’s borders are not open to pilgrimages of grief. There wasn’t anywhere else special to do this.

‘Put me here too.’ Wanda murmurs as she walks back over to the small group of you, Clint and Steve. You nod silently. Clint seems entirely impassive. Steve touches Wanda’s shoulder supportively, but she doesn’t acknowledge it.

As you walk back to the Compound, her cold hand finds its way back into yours. You squeeze it tightly. 

The full team is waiting inside. Tony and Pepper hadn’t been invited out to the tree, the Stark Industries connection being an unspoken barrier. They wait with the others, just inside the main door.

You are frustrated at their insistence in being involved at all. It is not the time to reopen old wounds.

Inside, several traditional Sokovian dishes have been provided by a catering company. The drinks bar on the other side features Sokovian vodka prominently. You watch a careful wall develop behind Wanda’s eyes. You understand why. The gesture feels jarringly intrusive. As if Tony has dug up pieces of Wanda’s past and put them on display.

Steve talks to Wanda earnestly, telling her that Pietro was a hero. You watch her jaw tighten slightly at his words. You squeeze her hand again, wishing you could do anything else. 

Wanda slips her hand out of yours. She ignores the empty plates provided, instead going straight to the drinks bar. 

The atmosphere settles familiarly with everyone else, especially with Wanda on the other side of the room. Rhodey starts talking to you about something mundane. 

You watch Wanda pour herself a drink.

The awkwardness of the formal event makes every minute spent feel like an hour. After polite conversations with most people in the room, you watch Wanda slip away. 

Barely five minutes later, you do the same. You pretend not to see the others commenting on your hurried exit.

Her room is empty. You step into it briefly, scanning for signs of occupation. You stop at her window, heart sinking as you realise Wanda looks directly onto the large tree with ashes scattered beneath it.

A tight claustrophobic feeling binds itself around your chest. You hurry from the room, down the emergency stairwell, intending to find some fresh air. 

You nearly trip over Wanda, huddled on a stair. 

Apologies fly from your mouth instantly. Wanda stands up, brushing her dress off. Her face is pale and you can see the tremble in her fingers. 

Her attention is turned to you. 

‘Are you okay?’ She asks. 

‘Are you?’ You challenge unthinkingly. Wanda rolls her eyes. Her foot taps a large stolen bottle of Russian vodka, standing on the step below her.

‘No.’ She replies matter of factly. ‘I’m having a funeral.’ 

You nod, eyeing the vodka with a surge of envy.

‘Can I join?’ You ask bluntly.

.

Twenty minutes later, the world is getting hazy at the edges.  

The door at the bottom of the stairwell thuds open and you both startle. 

Together, you peer over the ledge. Wanda’s hand presses down on your inner thigh as she leans for a better view. You try not to think about how it feels.

For a moment, there is silence and no movement below. Then, Natasha appears, looking right up at you.

‘That is my vodka.’ She calls out. 

‘Was.’ You correct her teasingly. Natasha’s expression crinkles with a half smile.

‘Toast him from me.’ She requests simply, gaze meeting Wanda’s. 

Wanda nods and Natasha leaves, the door thudding again behind her. 

You lift the vodka bottle in silent toast, taking a drink before passing to Wanda. 

As she drinks, you notice a beauty mark on her cheek. Your eyes linger a little too long. 

Wanda watches you thoughtfully, before she puts the bottle down. 

She takes your hand carefully into her lap and lays it there gently, palm up. She traces the outline of your hand with her forefinger. Tingles shoot along your arm and down your spine. 

Drunkenly, you decided that Wanda is in fact magic. 

You watch as she carves a featherlight ‘P’ into your palm with her finger. You know the rest of the word to follow. 

When she’s  finished, Wanda begins again. You watch half hypnotised, overwhelmed by a feeling that you can’t name.

She writes her brother’s name again and again into your skin.

You don’t realise you are crying until the tears slide from your face.

‘He was your brother.’ You whisper with strange reverence, staring down at your palm. Wanda nods silently, pressing her thumb slowly into your palm. You curl your fingers gently around her and kiss the fist you make.

.

Weeks fly together after the funeral. Everyone seeks out a sense of routine, including Wanda.

Missions and training are the group focus of each day. 

There is no use denying the way you feel about Wanda. But, you try anyway. 

You are her only friend. You do your best not to mess it up.

Wanda trains far longer each day than you do. She is passed between different Avengers for specialised training. Natasha and Steve have sessions with her every day. 

Each afternoon, Wanda seeks you out in your room. You lie together on your bed, watching old sitcoms on the TV in the corner. Wanda’s hair is always wet from her shower and you fight a feeling of deja vu when she leans against you. 

You eat dinner together every evening. Sometimes afterward, Wanda’s head rests even heavier against your shoulder. You stay as still as you can, praying she might fall asleep. She never does.

You know that eventually something will disrupt the carefully balanced routine. 

It is a Tuesday. You are talking with Sam in the kitchen. 

A muffled explosion makes the building shudder. 

You are both already on your way toward the noise, when Jarvis informs you that it is a training accident. 

Sam slows down when Jarvis clarifies that nobody is hurt. You don’t.

As you approach the main training room, Steve is exiting it. He brushes past you like you’re not even there, shaking his head in preoccupation. 

You enter the room cautiously. Natasha is standing just inside the door. Her voice is pitched low, intentionally calming. 

You take in the scene. 

Mangled fitness equipment lies scattered. Training weapons are embedded like makeshift javelins in the wooden floor. 

Wanda stands at the heart of the explosion. There is no red aura around her, but it’s like you can taste the residue of it in the air.

Natasha gives you a cautionary look, as if she’s the zookeeper standing between you and a tiger.

‘Wanda.’ You call out anyway. The red pulse that marks your words is unmistakable.

‘Don’t come near me.’ Wanda spits at you. Her eyes train on Natasha again . “Either of you.’

Natasha’s jaw tightens as she nods.

‘Okay.’ She says calmly, keeping her front to Wanda as she backs out of the room. Through the glass pane in the door, Natasha waits for you to follow. 

You shake your head imperceptibly. Concern floods Natasha’s face before she leaves. 

You slide to sit on the ground, back against the wall.

You are alone together. There is the loudest silence. You can hear Wanda’s frustration in her breathing.

‘I told you to go.’ Wanda tells you in a tight voice. Minutes have passed. You wonder if she knows. 

‘You’re not a monster.’ You tell her resolutely, stretching for one of the unopened water bottles left discarded along with some kit bags. ‘I’m not treating you like one.’

Another minute passes. You sip the water that you don’t really want, grateful to have anything to do.

‘I am.’ Wanda whispers finally. She falls slowly to her knees.

‘You’re not.’ You counter firmly, climbing back to your feet. You walk over in a quick few steps, refusing to acknowledge any danger in being here. 

You feel Wanda tense worriedly as you get closer. So, you sit back down several feet away from her.

You slide the water bottle across the floor and Wanda takes it.

‘I’m not normal.’ She amends, fingers twisting the bottle cap. 

‘Doesn’t mean you’re a monster.’ You insist, feeling a hot protectiveness in your chest. 

‘You don’t know.’ Wanda tells you; and you see the echo of her mistakes written across her face.

‘I’d like to.’ You admit unthinkingly. 

Wanda looks back up at you. Her eyes feel fiery but her expression is pained. 

‘Don’t say things that you don’t mean.’ She warns, her accent curling harshly around the words. 

‘Never.’ You promise immediately. 

Realisation falls upon her face as you hold her stare. Wanda blows out a shaky breath. 

‘Don’t say things that you don’t mean.’ She whispers again. 

You crawl across the space between you. Your heart is in your mouth. 

‘Never.’ You hear yourself repeat. 

Wanda’s eyes are desperate, but she faces you with perfect stillness.

You brush her hair as you cup her jaw. Her eyes flutter shut at the sensation, her lips part slightly. 

You kiss her gently. You think of how delicate she doesn’t know she is. Her lips feel soft and then they feel like home.

—-----

You find her alone in the kitchen. It has been four weeks since the kiss in the training room. A month since everything clicked into place.

‘Hey.’ You call, unable to wipe the immediate smile from your face.

Wanda tenses and then she swears in a language you don’t understand. 

You hesitate in surprise.  

‘I’m cooking you dinner.’ Wanda informs you tensely, a moment later. 

You smell the air and hesitate at the strong but unfamiliar aroma. Wanda catches your unsure reaction. 

‘Something you’ve never heard of.’ She tells you, looking down at the stove in an attempt to hide her smile.

‘Yum.’ You tell her enthusiastically, walking over to the island counter. 

Wanda snorts, leaning familiarly back against you as your hands slide around her waist. You rest your head on her shoulder, sneaking a glance down at the mysterious dish. You are relieved to recognise chicken.

You revel in Wanda’s closeness, holding her tighter for a long moment.

‘I really do want to try it.’ You assure her. ‘It looks good.’ 

Wanda nods, but she doesn’t speak. 

Your fingers slide under her top, resting at her hip. You rub circles with your thumb against her skin. 

‘It’s my favourite meal.’ Wanda tells you quietly. You press your lips against her collarbone as you listen. ‘But it’s supposed to be something that you share.’

The echoes of her past feel weighted now. You stroke her cheek unthinkingly. 

‘Let me set the table.’ You offer simply.

.

You take the first piece of chicken from your plate and go to try it. You pretend Wanda’s eyes aren’t glued to you in anticipation.

The spice kicks in at the back of your throat and you splutter a cough. Your eyes water and you hear yourself wheeze as you reach for your drink.

Wanda is already on her feet, panic radiating from her. Her hand is on your back. 

There is an awful, embarrassing moment as you continue to splutter.

‘No.’ You finally force yourself to speak hoarsely, hitting yourself in the chest. ‘I’m fine. I’m fine.’ You give an awkward thumbs up as you finally swallow.

Wanda falls back in her seat. You watch her cover her face with her hands. A strange laugh bubbles out of her,

‘I thought I’d killed you.’ She admits suddenly.

You touch her shoulder unsurely. You can feel her start to shake, as her laughter descends into strange sobs. You taste the lump in your throat as you realise how very real her fear was. 

You want to tell her it’s illogical, irrational to worry about something like that. That you won’t die so easily. That it would never be her fault. 

You can’t lie.

You take her hand instead, pulling her wordlessly to your lap. Wanda buries her face against you, and you feel hot tears trickle down your neck. 

She clings to you in a way that she never has before. 

She has never seemed so vulnerable. You rub her back, hoping desperately that she doesn’t feel so vulnerable too.

Her cries slow and she takes a steadying breath. Wanda lifts her face to face the ceiling and wipes the tears from her pale cheeks. Your eyes catch automatically on her beauty mark. 

She moves to leave your lap, but you keep her steady. 

Wanda turns to face you, confused. 

You offer her your fork, another piece of chicken on the end. You shrug.

‘It’s meant to be shared.’

[missmeinyourbones]

a tiny little something for you babies! barely edited or proofread. probably not good but hey here we are. soft soft soft fluff with a pain in the ass satoru

…

“satoru?”

your lover replies eagerly, “yes, angel?”

“what’s the point of us having a king-sized bed if we aren’t actually utilizing its space?”

the question is rhetorical, he knows this, yet satoru still finds himself smiling as he opens his mouth to let it do what it does best and bullshit.

“why would i want to spread out in bed when i could be cuddling the love of my life all night?”

the bed is huge, far too big for two people—even including satoru and his ridiculously long limbs. a california king lined with satin sheets and pillows that feel like clouds. it feels like a dream, but the weight of satoru’s body thrown across your own reminds you that this is, in fact, a grounding reality. 

he feels you sigh against his hair, “as romantic as you’re trying to make that seem, you’re on my side of the bed.”

his eyebrows furrow against your chest, and he almost laughs at how silly your statement sounds. 

“there are no sides of the bed,” he easily replies, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

“what’s yours is mine baby,” he quips, before lifting his left hand to your face as proof, proudly showcasing the silver band decorating his ring finger. “i mean, that’s what we said in the vows, right?”

you swat his hand from your face and he chuckles, vibrating your entire body and making the room a whole lot warmer than it was a few moments ago. 

“i said in sickness and in health,” you stubbornly remind him, “not on my side of the bed and yours.”

at the tiredness lacing your voice and the grumpy glare you shoot him through your words, satoru decides to throw you a bone. he detangles himself from you, removing his weight and shuffling a bit further from where he priorly laid on top of you. 

now, he lays on his stomach, head turned to face your own. his large hand still makes itself comfortable flat across your soft stomach, his foot skimming your calf every now and then in an attempt to get comfortable. 

“there,” he exhales after a moment of deliberate shuffling, “i’ll let you breathe.”

his statement is so ridiculous, it makes you laugh. genuinely exhale from your nose and bubble deep from your throat. because to the eye of any stranger, the position is still extremely close. satoru is practically nuzzling into your side, glued to your hip as half of his body now slowly works its way on top of you—which is better than whole, so you take it as a win. 

you roll your eyes to hide your flush, “how kind of you.”

the moment is peaceful, but for only that—a moment. through the silence of your bedroom, satoru finds his voice once more. 

“can you rub my back?” 

he watches your face contort in the darkness as you scowl, “you’re insufferable.”

“please?” he whines like a child as his head pushes into your neck. “i’ll do yours after.”

you both know he won't, as he’ll be fast asleep in the next ten minutes, at most. you two do this same song and dance a few times a week: he asks you to run his back, you pretend to be annoyed by it, and then the gentle scratch of your nails on his skin lulls him to sleep rather quickly. it’s a routine, it feels like the two of you. 

through soft sighs of pleasure and dozing consciousness, satoru admits through a lazy grin. 

“this is my favorite part of the day, you know.”

“mhm,” you nod along at his blissed-out trance, “if i got to sprawl out and have my back rubbed til i fall asleep every night, i think it’d be my favorite part too.” 

satoru smiles with his teeth and he laughs from his belly at your quick remark. “not because of all this,” he claims through a whine, “it is a huge bonus, though.”

he slightly shivers beneath your fingertips when you whisper in return, “then why?”

satoru places a kiss on your neck, and his lips feel softer than the luxury bed you drift off in. 

“because i get to be with you,” he easily replies.